


A Byakuya Togami Christmas Special

by zenonaa



Category: Dangan Ronpa
Genre: F/M, a gradual ascent from no romo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-11
Updated: 2015-12-25
Packaged: 2018-05-06 04:51:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5403716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zenonaa/pseuds/zenonaa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'A key part of being a successful businessman was having the ability to identify patterns. Patterns that enabled him to accurately predict what course of action would be successful and what wouldn’t be, weighing up advantages and disadvantages as he dissected his options. Why, choosing the perfect present would stand as a testament to his people skills and prove wrong all those who tittered behind his back and accused him of not knowing simple things like how to kiss a girl.</p><p>By the way, the answer to that was on the cheek and at publicity events once both parties were married.'</p><p>Togami gets Fukawa for Secret Santa and goes on a quest to find the perfect present.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Someone rigged the Secret Santa. Who, Byakuya couldn’t say. Not yet. Makoto put forward the idea of their class having one, after indulging himself in far too many Western Christmas television specials. Though Byakuya had been absent for most of the preparations, of course, what with not being Makoto’s friend, he heard that Makoto talked about the notion of a Secret Santa with Kyouko, Mukuro and Sayaka, and Junko found out about it from Mukuro. Junko pestered Yasuhiro into writing down everybody’s names on individual slips of paper with that surprisingly neat handwriting of his, and she persuaded Leon to lend one of his baseball caps for the names to be stored in until this very morning.

“Everyone, please give me your attention!” boomed Kiyotaka, the class crier. He waved Leon’s baseball cap, just enough to not spill the slips of paper inside of it.

Already bored, Byakuya returned his eyes to his book and reclined in his chair, one of only two students still seated at their desks. The other person, Touko, situated behind him, hadn’t risen like everyone else now gathered around Kiyotaka, like flies on a rotting piece of meat.

Kiyotaka resumed talking. Shouting. Neither verb was wrong. Both were the same things with him. “As you know, Christmas is only three weeks away. Naegi-kun thought it would be a fun idea for our class to host a Secret Santa, and I am in full agreement.” He started beaming, teeth on full display. “This sort of activity is sure to bring us closer together and improve our spirits, which will boost mood levels and productivity, wouldn’t you say?”

Byakuya clicked his tongue and drew his eyes back to his book for a second time. Nothing that Kiyotaka had said interested him at all but with that kind of guy with that kind of volume so nearby, Byakuya couldn’t not listen to Kiyotaka.

“Uhm... What is a Secret Santa, exactly?” asked Chihiro.

“We all take a random name from a hat and buy a present for that person,” explained Makoto.

“Correct!” Kiyotaka whipped a finger forward and pointed at Chihiro, who jolted back, crashing into the person behind, and would have sent someone lighter than Sakura to the ground with such a forceful impact. As it was, Sakura had been standing behind Chihiro and she stayed upright, and so Chihiro did too. “Like Naegi-kun said, we all choose a slip of paper from the hat at random and whoever’s name we receive, we buy a present for that person and anonymously give it to them on Christmas. Well, Christmas Eve, because that is when this trimester ends.”

Aoi tapped her index finger against her chin. “Anonymously?”

“By an unknown person,” said Byakuya. For a frustrating third time, he forced his eyes back to his book. “That’s what anonymously means. If the presents are given anonymously, you won’t know who gave yours to you.”

“I know what anonymously means. I just don’t understand how we’re going to do that. Won’t you see who’s giving you the present?” 

Byakuya stuck up his nose and shot a glare at her, shifting in his seat. “Obviously you won’t be just going up to your person and giving them their present. There will be measures in place.”

The silence that followed lasted for three seconds.

“We could wear blindfolds,” suggested Sayaka.

“Kinky,” said Junko.

A wave of pink warmth flushed Sayaka’s cheeks.

“I’m not wearing a blindfold!” Touko piped up and coming from someone who fantasised scenarios too inappropriate for mainstream books in mutterings that could have better fitted the word ‘mutterings’ for the sake of those around her, this raised a few eyebrows. Byakuya’s remained lowered, wedged in place by a furrowed brow. “At... least, I won’t if my present isn’t for Byakuya-sama...”

The back of Byakuya’s neck prickled.

“Hearing all of you is nauseating,” announced Byakuya. “It’s not a hard problem to solve. You choose one person to get all of the presents and later give them out... I delegate Naegi.”

“M-Me?” said Makoto, motioning toward himself by prodding himself on the chest with his thumb.

“Yes, you. You’re the one who thought of the idea.”

“You should feel honoured, Naegi,” said Touko, barely restraining a snarl.

“But if Naegi-chi’s in charge then he’ll know who got his name, ‘right?” said Yasuhiro.

Byakuya’s nostrils flared. “Firstly, in no way did I suggest we appoint Naegi to be in charge. He is simply responsible for distributing the presents for your silly game. Secondly, will it really break his heart to know who picked out his name? Is he that pathetic?”

Mondo straightened up, teeth bared, looking ready to say something that could finally provide Byakuya with some amusement, but Makoto cut in.

“It’s fine,” he assured everyone, making himself out to be a messiah. “I’ll just try not to pay attention to who gives me what.”

No one responded to what he said so Makoto spoke again.

“So, uh, why don’t we hand out the names now? While we’re all here?” he asked.

“Good idea,” said Yasuhiro, sensing the same unease.

“Very well,” said Kiyotaka and he began to extend Leon’s hat out toward each individual in the room in turn, waiting for them to pick out a name before he moved onto the next person.

Now that everyone was preoccupied by the novelty of a Secret Santa, Byakuya could read his book in peace. The background noise in the classroom blended into a hum, sharp voices waning into murmurs of thanks and other pointless tokens of appreciation and general remarks, punctuated only by Kiyotaka distinctly asking, “You didn’t get your own name, did you?” occasionally. Byakuya could ignore even that, and indeed, he had reached the end of the second page of his book when Kiyotaka thrust Leon’s hat into his field of vision.

“There are three left,” Kiyotaka said, jiggling the hat.

“I know how to count,” said Byakuya as he pinched at a slip of paper, removing it from the hat. He did so without thinking about what he was doing, without reminding himself that he had scoffed at the idea multiple times that morning, and unfolded it.

The name ‘Touko Fukawa’ beamed up at him like one of her dirty grins.

Someone rigged the Secret Santa. Who, Byakuya couldn’t say. Not yet. Of all the people that he could have been given, he received the name of the girl who trailed after him until he grew sick of having two shadows and told her to go away or, if he was in a good mood, to walk where he could see her. This couldn’t have been a coincidence.

“Is that someone else’s name?” asked Kiyotaka.

“Yes,” Byakuya replied, quickly, perhaps too quickly and too abruptly, and he scrunched up the slip of paper in his hand. Some might have thought he sounded guilty, or like he was lying, but Kiyotaka gave a curt nod and presented Touko with the hat.

“In order for this activity to be fair, there will be a spending limit,” said Kiyotaka as he withdrew the hat from Touko, who was reading the name on her slip of paper and chewing on her lower lip in an otherwise blank expression. “Otherwise it wouldn’t be fair on the people whose gifters cannot afford to pay as much as others.”

Gifters like that of the grandson of a man who plunged his family into debt, for example. Byakuya smirked but no one gave notice, wrapped up in their own worlds. Kiyotaka declared a numerical cost that Byakuya considered to be pitifully small, if such a thing could even be pitied, and then Kiyotaka checked the last slip in the hat for the person he would be giving his present to.

With everything set in place, Kiyotaka took his seat at his desk and the rest of the class dispersed, following suit. Slowly, Byakuya unclenched his fist, staring down at the crumpled piece of paper in his palm. Touko rustled behind him, probably stashing away her notebook because their first lesson would start in a few minutes. Byakuya closed his fist again.

“Hey. If Naegi is delivering the presents, then he could dress as that Santa guy,” said Aoi.

“Huh?” went Leon. “What does Shikiba got to do with any of this?”

“... She means Santa Claus,” said Celes.

Leon ruffled his hair, hand behind his head. “I was joking.”

“Were you? I apologise... I hadn’t realised.”

The rest of the day crawled by, as did the rest of the week, and Saturday morning dawned with a dull glow. Byakuya drank a mugful of coffee, read in his room for a while and then left the school grounds. Their school, Hope’s Peak Academy, resided in the centre of the city, meaning that many shops were within walking distance and didn’t require the use of public transport. On his way to the main shopping district, Byakuya was reminded of his dislike of public transport when a bus passed him by, rattling as it travelled in the opposite direction. Clean and timely though the companies and its customers claimed buses to be, a secondary means of public transportation augmenting the subway networks of the city, the thought of going on a bus filmed his tongue with a bitter slime that a commoner on a bus might later spit onto the pavement.

His leather shoes thudded. Thoughts of buses lingered in his mind and he swallowed, shivering in the winter late morning air. Byakuya doubted that he would need a long time to find a cheap present that would satisfy Touko. He didn’t particularly care about pleasing her, exactly, but their other classmates would bother him if he chose the wrong gift and he didn’t want to give anyone reason to believe that he was incapable of knowing how other people’s minds worked. A key part of being a successful businessman was having the ability to identify patterns. Patterns that enabled him to accurately predict what course of action would be successful and what wouldn’t be, weighing up advantages and disadvantages as he dissected his options. Why, choosing the perfect present would stand as a testament to his people skills and prove wrong all those who tittered behind his back and accused him of not knowing simple things like how to kiss a girl.

By the way, the answer to that was on the cheek at publicity events once both parties were married.

Initially, in the shopping district, he wound through different streets without stopping for more than a few seconds, searching for a promising establishment from which he could purchase an appropriate gift but not actually going inside any, judging them by their exterior.

A jewellers caught his eye. Byakuya padded over to the glass storefront and peered inside. His reflection watched him as he browsed, and its eyes widened for a moment when he sighted a solid gold necklace with a twisted rope chain. The tassels of the gold rope hung out from the platinum loop that the rope wrapped around at the front of the necklace.

Jewellery served to inform others of the wearer’s wealth. Of their accomplishments that led them to being able to afford it. Surely Touko would be honoured to wear something so grand, worth 464720 yen at retail price.

As Byakuya studied the necklace more closely, face nearly pressing against the glass, his reflection’s frown grew more prominent. Touko wearing the necklace would be due to the fact that they attended the same school, were in the same class and he happened to choose her name at random from a hat, not due to any real accomplishment of hers. He hadn’t completely dismissed the possibility that someone purposely gave him the name of the girl whose face broke into a smile upon seeing him, who offered to carry his books and hold doors open for him, but either way, he came to the same conclusion, and the longer he dwelled on the purpose of jewellery and the ways that one could obtain it, the more holes he discovered in his pre-existing view. Celestia Ludenberg wore a lot of jewellery but she earned hers through luck and deceit. That could hardly be called earning it. Certainly not in a way that he respected.

Byakuya glanced away and spotted a pink amethyst pendant, shaped as a teardrop and attached to a gold chain studded with silver orbs. The price of this necklace also surpassed the restriction that Kiyotaka set but to Byakuya, as he stood by the window, burgundy scarf coiled around his neck, only very few necklaces, if any at all, would look better on Touko, and it was slightly less expensive than the other necklace.

Cost was no obstacle to him and refusing to let the opportunity pass, he pushed open the door of the jewellers and bought the necklace with the amethyst pendant. He resolved to find the perfect present that met Kiyotaka’s criteria later, for Byakuya wasn’t one to back down from a challenge, and he would give the necklace to Touko in addition to the Secret Santa as an unrelated gift.

“Excellent choice, dear,” said the jeweler as she stowed the necklace into a gift box with an orchid purple lid and a black velvet base. She tied a ribbon around it and once done, jerked her head, and her blue diamond-shaped earrings gleamed momentarily. Buying earrings occurred to Byakuya but seconds later, he doubted that Touko had her ears pierced; she couldn’t stand the sight of blood and an infected ear would make things inconvenient for everybody. “This will be dreadfully nosy of me...”

The woman didn’t have to say anything more yet she continued talking.

“... but please, is this for a girlfriend?” she asked.

“No,” he said simply, truthfully, because the conglomerate hadn’t started scouting for candidates.

She adjusted the bow on the top of the box. “Family?”

He rapped the counter with his fingers.

“A girl in my class,” he said, ending the guessing game and all talk for the rest of the transaction.

Next, he walked around outside some more, conscious of other people milling about nearby. What with today being a Saturday, the preferred time for many to carry out their shopping trips, Byakuya found himself having to start and stop far too much on his way through the shopping district because of the crowds. Oh, people succumbed to his will when they realised his identity, letting him pass, uttering profuse apologies, not just because he was a Togami but also because he attended Hope’s Peak, and everyone in the city knew who attended Hope’s Peak. Being a Togami, even at Hope’s Peak he was elite, and Togami was what he was known as to the world at large. Togami-kun, Togami-chi, Togami-san... Hifumi was almost an exception with Togami Byakuya-dono, either spluttered or declared with bravado, and proper exceptions were his butler’s young masters, the Byakuyas drawled by the rest of the conglomerate and the Byakuya-samas that Touko upgraded from stuttered Togami-kuns.

A sharp elbow knocked Byakuya out of his musings. The owner of the elbow, a guy who, behind a stern expression, might have been Byakuya’s age, maybe younger, continued with his brisk pace as if they hadn’t made physical contact. His companion, a taller guy, nearly as tall as Byakuya, with droopy green eyes that gave the impression that he was about to nod off to sleep, gave the jostling passer-by a half-hearted tug on the elbow but failed to force his friend to stop.

“Sorry,” mouthed the guy with droopy green eyes, and he stumbled, trying to keep up with his partner.

Byakuya glared at their receding backs, but waves of strangers doing their own shopping lapped at his vision so he lost sight of them quickly. Had they been worth his time, he would have chased after them and let them know just who they had crossed. Just what kind of person that they barged into and dismissed so readily. Still seething, Byakuya dusted his hand against the sleeve of his jacket, which was where that obnoxious, reckless buffoon charged into him. They were fortunate that they hadn’t damaged it. His jacket cost more than their lives and future aspirations put together.

He brought his hand to a halt, suddenly inspired. Clothes. For his Secret Santa, he could buy Touko an article of clothing. Though he was no tailor, not when he had workers who sewed clothes to his precise specifications for him, he knew a few of Touko’s measurements or could gauge them by looking at her. In one of his meetings with his father, they discussed the ideal woman, and his father listed numbers, utilising them in ways that supported his misogynic views of how a woman should exist and behave.

Not aloud, never aloud, Byakuya suspected this was why his mother and father didn’t willingly spend time together.

The fashion store that he entered, after glimpsing inside a few others prior, had a modern furnishing, with white walls, white flooring and a white ceiling. Byakuya ventured deeper into the establishment. Above, the rectangular lamps shone an intensity that made the surfaces of the room appear off-white and around him, the building hummed, warm. Quotes stenciled onto the pillars inside, black against cream, parroted quotes by famous designers, some who Byakuya had met on previous occasions. He swept his gaze across racks of clothes and headless mannequins, hunting for an appropriate dress. His forage would have gone a lot more easily if he knew more than one of her measurements. The only measurement he knew was that of her underwear and let it be clear that he only knew it because a pair of her panties ended up in his laundry one time and he read the label because he thought that was where the owner’s name would be, like on his, and him possessing them hadn’t been his fault. In fact, calling him the target of a childish prank committed one of his classmates, most likely Genocider Syo, wouldn’t be incorrect, and he returned them to Touko when she somehow realised that he had acquired them.

Anyway, enough about that.

Byakuya completed two circuits of the store before he settled on a dress worn by one of the mannequins. It was a scoop ball gown, light medium violet - wisteria, accented with beads and with cap sleeves and a layered skirt sprinkled lightly with glitter that would hide Touko’s shoes from sight.

He cupped his chin, thinking that he would have to buy her shoes as well even if no one would see them unless she hitched up the skirt. The shoes could be another present, like the necklace, and he found some nearby that cost only 70000 yen, a pair of flats that were a mirrored nude, but at the checkout, he learned that the dress would have to be a present that wasn’t a Secret Santa too because it cost a bit more than 60000 yen.

What had Kiyotaka been thinking, capping the cost of the present at such a low number? Byakuya fumed as he exited the shop. At least now, with these presents, Touko wouldn’t be such an eyesore, though her smell could do with improvement and at that point he remembered there existed a place that sold perfume not too far from here.

After a brief spell in the cold, he walked into the perfume shop that he had in mind. Boxes and bottles of different perfumes occupied every available space in the small, compact room. Perfumes were crammed together on shelves, in cabinets, and it left Byakuya not much room to navigate around in. He sniffed once as he stepped up to the counter.

A smiley woman decked in black greeted him from behind the counter. “Heya! Can I help you?”

“I require some perfume for an acquaintance of mine,” he said.

“For a girl, I take it?” she asked. Byakuya let her take ‘it’, whatever ‘it’ was. “Umm... so do you know what her favourite scents are?”

The whole point of this was so Touko wouldn’t smell like a threatened stinkbug like she usually did. He had no clue what kinds of smells she liked other than that one. Ink? Books? Him?

Patience thin, he touched an index finger to the rim of his glasses. He had no other option; he would have to describe his preferred smells. “It should start spicy. Captivating. Therefore I recommend cinnamon. Clove. Warm rosewood and patchouli. In addition to these, I want there to be floral and fruity undertones. Something dignifying. Rose. Vanilla. Lime. Coconut. Bergamot. Gardenia. The musk of this perfume should be rich and tenacious so it will need tuberose, as that will bring the range of scents into congruence.”

To his irritation, the woman gawked at him and said, “Are you trying to sell me some perfume?”

“No, I want to buy some perfume and I don’t want anything cheap either,” he said despite coming here originally to buy perfume that he could give to Touko as a Secret Santa present. “Translated badly, gardenia can smell of rot, like that of decomposing human flesh. I’m willing to pay whatever is necessary to avoid that...”

Her smile returned and the woman hauled out a large catalog from behind the counter. “Oh, I can help with that, sir.”

Byakuya couldn’t reasonably expect this shop to stock his fragrance, and it didn’t, but after a lot of time spent perusing the catalog, he selected a perfume that met his standards worth 82986 yen, again too high but again what Byakuya thought was required. He exited the shop and noted that the sky was darkening already, and he almost regretted that he hadn’t sought someone out to come with him so they could carry his shopping. Touko obviously couldn’t have accompanied him and Makoto popped into his head next, what with Makoto being someone that Byakuya felt was easy to manipulate into performing menial tasks, but Makoto lacked the strength required and would likely break something. Mondo? Sakura? No, they wouldn’t accept this role.

His stomach growled. Thankfully, the sound was swiftly consumed by the low moaning of the wind, and it led to him contemplating buying a food item for her. Chocolates would suffice. She avoided mealtimes, if possible, and more often than not retreated to her room to eat or hid in a corner of the library, eating as quietly as she could manage. At first, she shied away from eating even in his presence, but as time went on, she grew bolder and gradually attended more mealtimes, though he noticed that him being there still greatly influenced where she ate, whether it be him letting her eat at his table or if he told her to go busy herself in the cafeteria because her wet lips and staring distracted him and he liked bigger girls.

He hesitated.

Whether Touko enjoyed the present shouldn’t - wouldn’t bother him and besides, she wouldn’t know he bought them, but he hesitated now, unsure if he should buy her chocolates. Well, cheap chocolates, anyway. It was the sort of present that a common person would buy. That someone else in his class would buy. Moreover, he didn’t know her opinion on chocolate apart from the Valentine’s Day chocolates that she gave him that he might not have given to his disposal crew because he found himself hungry in the library with them on his person before he had chance to get rid of them in a way that wasn’t eating them, and that only suggested what sort of chocolates she guessed with decent accuracy that he might like. In hindsight, he should have asked her where she obtained them from. They hadn’t tasted too bad.

Available online was a truffle that cost 316208 yen, consisting mostly of dark chocolate that coated a vanilla core mixed with heavy cream, sugar and truffle oil, that Byakuya had eaten on several occasions. If he ordered one, no, two, as soon as he was back in his room, it would arrive by Christmas Eve. It wouldn’t be a Secret Santa present of course, but a present like all the others bought so far. Touko’s writing earned her a lot of money, true, but that didn’t mean she allocated any of her earnings toward luxury chocolates or that she was aware of this truffle’s existence.

Byakuya’s stomach rumbled again. He really needed to eat something but not wishing to lug the shopping that he accumulated so far to a food place, where he risked contracting some kind of illness from the instant food served there, he decided that he would conclude his shopping trip for the day and eat at Hope’s Peak instead. Hope’s Peak boasted some of Japan’s finest chefs, often receiving assistance from the Super High School Level Cook, and the staff was beaten only by the world-class chefs who worked for the Togami Conglomerate.

The thought of carrying his shopping back to the school on foot, on a journey where someone could ambush Byakuya in his weary state and steal the presents that he spent so long deliberating over, failed to appeal to him in any capacity, so he headed over to the bus station and sat on the edge of one of the benches there. Like the rest of the shopping district, this area was packed with too many people.

He laced his hands together on his lap, face forward, and waited for the right bus to pull up.

Kiyotaka’s challenge wasn’t as straightforward as he anticipated.


	2. Pure and Holy End

Alone in his room, Byakuya drummed his fingers against the wooden surface of his desk. Each knock only served to worsen his headache. He clenched his jaw and curled his digits into his palm, staring at the woodgrain in his desk that striped it different shades of brown. Silence droned.

His fist remained tightly closed for one minute. Roughly a minute. Byakuya didn’t count under his breath or focus enough on the digital clock at the edge of his vision for the exact time to seep into his consciousness, but his head pounded in accordance with the ticking of a nonexistent analog clock so time must have passed. Must have dripped as water droplets fall into a bucket, splattering at the bottom.

The tension in Byakuya’s fist grew, not painful, not yet, but uncomfortable, and he fanned out his hand. His face didn’t thaw.

He stroked the desk with his fingers, perpendicular to the woodgrain, away from his body and then back toward him. Once. Twice. Two times. The same number as the weeks that had passed since his shopping trip, making today one week prior to the deadline of the Secret Santa.

Dark grooves in the desk, fragmented, parallel to the woodgrain, couldn’t be discerned by his fingertips. It all felt flat.

Byakuya hadn’t spent the last seven weeks idling. Not at all. During that time, he thought. A lot. Not only did he think about what he could buy for Touko that fell within the price range yet met what he himself considered to be a high enough quality, but he followed after Touko on the off chance that she revealed interest in a particular object that she might enjoy and that he could obtain for her.

One could say that a role reversal occurred. He had become her shadow.

On a few occasions, she might have noticed his unusual behaviour, such as when she almost walked into the wrong classroom and, on backing away, hit against him by accident. Their height difference meant that the back of her head smacked into his chest and though her small frame prevented her from dishing out any real damage, she lurched back with more force than he anticipated, causing him to thrust a foot behind him instinctively so they didn’t fall down.

She had released out a whine that grinded in her throat and as she stepped forward, putting space between them, she spun around. For a second, he was the target of her glare, and his mouth must have parted because he became aware of himself having to close it. The moment ended. Upon realising who she bumped into, her shoulders sank and her arms lowered just ever so slightly.

“Huh? Byakuya-sama?”

Those had been her exact words.

“Hm?” he went, as if he just detected her presence. Acting casual, or what he thought to be casual, he tweaked his collar. “Yes? What is it that you need?”

Touko rubbed the tip of her index finger against the corner of her lips.

“Did I hurt you?” she asked. “I’m sorry. I d-didn’t know you were there. Still...”

She buried her fingers in tangles of hair, disheveling her twin braids even more.

“... p-punish me as you deem appropriate,” she said.

Byakuya dusted the front of his jacket with his hand. “That won’t be necessary. Besides, you’re much too light to have committed any real harm...”

“Bend me over your lap and unleash your fury onto my naughty bottom with your mighty hand,” she babbled, eye contact with him lost, and he forgot whether he had planned to say anything else. To be honest, he temporarily forgot what they were even talking about. “Spank me however many times you feel is required, and then spank me with your other hand for making your first hand sore, so sore that it throbs, glowing as pink as my exposed - ”

“Shut up!” demanded Byakuya with a shudder, face burning but the rest of his body frozen stiff.

Touko clamped her hand over her mouth. A couple of seconds passed where, though he purposely trained his eyes off to the side, to the other end of the corridor that no one else was in, he felt her staring at him. Byakuya looked at her again. She was staring at him.

Less flustered than he had been during his last outburst though his heart was still racing, Byakuya spoke. “For your information, Fukawa, I was merely on my way to... the...”

He looked around.

“... the music room,” he said.

She hunched her shoulders and said in a small voice, “The music room?”

“The music room.”

“You’re going to the music room?”

“Yes, the music room. Are you contemplating work as a voice artist on trains, announcing the next stop?”

Touko peeked up at him. “Should I be?”

“No,” he said. “I was merely commenting on how you are repeating the same thing.”

“Oh.”

She cupped her palm around her elbow and bent her leg slightly, weight mostly on her other leg.

Byakuya tucked his fingers into a trouser pocket and raised his other hand so he could cough into it. Touko met his gaze and he felt obliged to say something. How annoying.

“What is it with you and wanting to be spanked?” he asked. As soon as he finished the sentence, he looked away.

“Eh?” said Touko.

“Choose your words wisely. I’ve recently eaten,” he warned her.

She seemed to take note of what he said because she didn’t reply immediately. “I... as a masochist, it - ”

“All right. That’s enough. I’m going now,” he said. He removed his hand from his mouth, putting his sneer on full display, but she had little chance to appreciate it because he quickly turned his back on her. “Bye.”

“... Oh. G-Goodbye, Byakuya-sama...”

With his head held high, he strode off.

Of course, Touko hadn’t intercepted Byakuya on his way to the music room. He had never even intended to go there at all that day, but he lied to cover up his true purpose after she discovered him while she had been searching for their chemistry teacher, as Byakuya learned later when she told him that evening in the library as she set down a cup of black coffee onto the table he was sat at. If Byakuya proceeded to go somewhere else, not to the music room, and Touko found out, she would grow suspicious. No, not suspicious. That wasn’t the right word. Curious, that fitted better, and curiosity could take root in one’s heart and sprout, branching in one’s veins and bearing fruit at one’s fingertips and at the end of one’s tongue.

To stay true to what he said to Touko, Byakuya pushed open the door leading into the music room and entered. The door shut behind him with a dull thud. A brief sweep with his eyes from one side of the room to the other informed Byakuya that no one else was here. Despite being alone, he slumped against the door and quietly exhaled. His heart fell back into its regular pace.

Spotlights above the stage on the far side of the music room fringed the top of his vision purple and bathed everything within range in its influence. Byakuya moved away from the door and cut across the room, across a carmine flooring that was now mahogany only by material, not by colour, benches either side of him topped with pink, and he suspected that if he drew close enough to the stage, to the silhouettes of a piano and a lone chair, they too would be painted bias by the lighting.

He came to the stage before he could decide exactly how he would dwindle away enough time so his visit here would seem authentic. The piano, unyielding ebony despite the spotlight’s grasp, was unoccupied, and Byakuya took a step back to better view it. This was but one instrument that he could perform with. Other people played but Byakuya, he performed, on a stage to a night of twinkling eyes and whispered breezes that boomed applause, or at house concerts to people that his mother or father wanted to show him off to.

A muscle twitched in his cheek.

“Hey, Togami-kun,” a cheery voice rang out, somewhere behind him.

He flushed out any emotion that lingered on his face, leaving a blank slate in its wake, and screwed his head around.

The music room door clicked shut behind Sayaka. She wore her signature smile as she swung her arm forward, away from the door, and she wore it as she walked over, barely restraining herself from breaking into a skip. Her body gave a particularly big bounce on her final step.

“I didn’t expect to find you here. Did you book the stage?” she asked, unashamedly looking at him with wide eyes.

Byakuya swivelled the rest of his body around so he faced her completely.

“No,” he said. “I didn’t. I prefer to practice in my room. The walls there are soundproof so everyone’s din won’t disturb me.”

Sayaka leaned in closer. She didn’t get close enough for him to feel compelled to step back, but enough that the fact didn’t slip past him. As she shifted, her long blue hair swayed, the sheen on it indicating that it had been recently washed. Byakuya paid it no more acknowledgment than that, and his eyes flitted from her hair to the area above her head.

“True, but you don’t have a piano in your room, do you? There wouldn’t really be a lot of space for one in your room so if you wanted to practice playing the piano, you would have to go here,” she said.

He cocked his head. She had earned herself eye contact. “That’s a valid point but it’s irrelevant. I’m not here to practice.”

“Why are you here then?”

Byakuya folded his arms over his chest, watching her with more interest. “Take a guess.”

She scrunched up her face. Other people might have thought she looked cute, but that wasn’t a word that frequented Byakuya’s vocabulary. He never applied that word to an animal, a concept and definitely not to a person.

“Are you avoiding someone?” asked Sayaka, only partially smoothing out her facial features.

He didn’t reply. Instead, he waited to see if she inquired further into that possibility or interpreted his silence as a hint that she was on the wrong track.

“Fukawa-san?” Sayaka suggested. “You’re avoiding Fukawa-san?”

“That’s right,” he replied.

She relaxed her face a bit more but sounded crestfallen. “Oh, but she always gets so happy when she sees you.”

Byakuya rolled his eyes. “I suppose how I feel about it must not matter, hm?”

“How you feel matters completely, Togami-kun, but I don’t think it bothers you as much as you’re letting on,” she said softly. He frowned, properly regarding her now. Something was mixed in with her gentleness, something incongruous that gave her brow a faint crease down the middle. “Like all those times you hang out together...”

“... those times when she creeps up to me...?”

“Those times when you don’t send her away,” Sayaka clarified.

He hesitated. It gave her opportunity to elaborate.

“Because sometimes, you tell her to go away, and she does, but you don’t do that quite a bit of the time,” Sayaka explained. “The only times you really avoid her aren’t you avoiding her at all. Going to the boy’s changing rooms... to your own room... that’s when Genocider Syo is fronting, isn’t it? You can make the effort when you want to.”

“It’s... That’s just too tiresome, to tell her to go away each time.” Byakuya averted his gaze only to meet her eyes again moments later. He grimaced. “You have no right to be interrogating me. What business do you have here, hm? Give and take, Maizono.”

She blinked. The small movement shattered any hardness on her face, making her the boring person that Byakuya was used to her being. “Oh! Um, I’m here to rehearse a song that I’m producing with my group for a charity CD. Kuwata-kun told me that he has a song too so I talked to the people in charge of the CD, and they’re going to let him have a track on it too. I bet I could get you a spot on it, if you like.”

“I don’t sing,” he said bluntly.

Sayaka raised a finger. “But you play instruments, don’t you?”

Her finger crooked a bit.

“Actually... I was wondering if you could help me. Remember that concert that we took part in to raise money for the music department that one time?” she said.

“I do remember. They wouldn’t let me donate directly to their fundraiser,” said Byakuya bitterly.

She clasped her hands over her heart and fixed on a doe-eyed mask that she spent years perfecting, starting with a passive reflection in a mirror, moving up to impressionable people like Makoto and then up to... well, she wouldn’t need to progress beyond that. Her fanbase largely constituted of people like Makoto. According to Touko, there existed fans so obsessed with Sayaka that they called themselves ‘Sayakers’. Most of them were English-speaking fans, but Sayaka often posted shoutouts to all of her ‘Sayakers’ on social media.

Someone posted them on her social media, anyway.

Byakuya adjusted the position of his glasses. He was diverging from the matter at hand.

“... Would you mind accompanying me?” she asked. Before he could recalibrate his thoughts, she added, “Just for this session. I don’t usually write my own songs, you see. Someone else does. If I performed to some music, it would help me fine tune the lyrics.”

He had far better things to do than this. Of more importance was finding Touko a present for the class’ Secret Santa. In fact, helping Sayaka ranked very low on his list of things that he could theoretically do.

The word ‘no’ popped into Byakuya’s mind, he straightened his back, he breathed in, ready to share it, but then Sayaka exploited his pause.

She tilted her head back as if reading a hidden message on the ceiling. “Writing your own songs is pretty hard. You have to find something to sing about and then you have to figure out how to share it in a way that makes sense to other people but is melodic too. My friend Ayaka-chan writes songs for us to perform but our manager never lets us sing them... It’s a shame because she puts her heart into what she writes but she isn’t allowed an audience.”

Byakuya prepared himself to say ‘no’. Sayaka spoke first.

“This song that I wrote is about someone,” she mused. He bared his teeth. “I’m sure that whoever hears it will think of their own someone and they won’t have to struggle to put it into words themselves because they already have a song that did it for them.”

“Have you finished?” asked Byakuya.

“I think so.”

“No,” he finally got to say.

“Pardon?”

Byakuya realised that they had veered away significantly from Sayaka’s original question. She had, to be precise, and he sighed. His thoughts trekked back to where hers had wandered off to, so he could walk hers back to where they had been before she started rambling.

He tried again, guiding her thoughts toward the mental road of rejection. “You can sing by yourself.”

“Fukawa-san’s really talented, isn’t she?” Sayaka piped up, like he hadn’t said anything. Byakuya pouted but she ignored that too. “Not only that, but she’s so brave, writing all those stories. I understand because it’s similar to being an idol... Everyone is ready to criticise you but so many people are waiting on you, wanting to hear your voice, only Fukawa-san’s voice is in her books. Lots of sweat and time goes into our crafts, that people consume, and it’s up to us to make sure that part of us stays behind after our song or story ends. That’s a true gift, you know?”

Sayaka smiled at him. If he thought it to be possible, he would think that she was smirking.

“Wouldn’t you agree, Togami-kun?” she asked.

Byakuya responded with a short hum, his mind elsewhere.

“Do you think you can accompany me? Just for an hour? I’ll owe you one,” she said, and she offered her hand.

He didn’t take it, never mind shake it, but he replied, “Just for an hour. Be grateful... I expect this to be in your obituary.”

She full on beamed at him. “You have a funny sense of humour, Togami-kun.”

That had all occurred one week ago.

Alone in his room, Byakuya drummed his fingers against the wooden surface of his desk. Each knock only served to worsen his headache. Byakuya clenched his jaw and curled his digits into his palm, staring at the woodgrain in his desk that striped it different shades of brown. Silence droned. His fist remained tightly closed for one minute. Roughly a minute, and then he relaxed it. He lifted his hand and opened his desk’s top drawer.

In the drawer, nestled in a pile of papers, was a notepad with a flimsy mulberry cover. Byakuya bought it from Hope Peak’s library, which stocked a limited supply of stationery, and how he still loathed the idea of giving it to Touko even as part of a present. Even if the price restriction that he refused to stop being offended at meant that he couldn’t spend much on a gift. After he bought the notebook, he purchased a high quality exclusive design notebook with an elastic closure, pen loop and inner pocket, bound in durable black leather but soft to touch, worth 72013 yen, for Touko, and it was currently stored away with the other presents that he stumbled upon and bought for her, all of them in bags, on cabinet shelves located at the other end of the room to his desk, to be wrapped in the near future.

Buying a better, more expensive notebook counteracted some of the disgust that he had felt.

Byakuya placed the cheap notepad onto his desk and flipped to the first page. The first page was blank, as it had been when he checked it on several different occasions before now. He glared down at the empty page and rested his cheeks in his hands. An avider reader though he was, what he intended to write for Touko was not something in his area of expertise.

What he intended to write for Touko was a poem. For inspiration, Byakuya had researched her favourite writers. She liked Yasunari Kawabata’s works. Natsuo Kirino’s works too. He read more of Touko’s novels, more than what he read when he learned she would be in his class, more than he read on those bored nights in the library. Frustrated, he dragged his hands to his hair, and if the paper had been as hot as his eyes, it would have burst into flames.

Thinking what to say shouldn’t have caused him this level of difficulty.

**A tempest rages between these walls.**

After all, he always knew what to say.

**Someone left the front door unlocked.**

Byakuya said what was on his mind.

**Then again, it may have been the gaping windows that let it in.**

Touko reeked of acrid coriander.

**Either way, in the heart, thunder bangs and lightning forks.**

They always seemed to meet each other, again and again, him and her, Byakuya and Touko.

**The carpet sinks beneath my feet, squelching at each step.**

And someone like her would have jotted down the exact dates and times in a notebook and framed them with inky hearts.

**In the tempest’s mouth, its breath a storm, its teeth a downpour, I manage to survive.**

True, he sent her away whenever he felt like it, but...

**I keep pacing back and forth,**

“Sometimes, you tell her to go away, and she does, but you don’t do that quite a bit of the time.”

**so the floor keeps beating as if alive.**

‘Let’s compromise. We are both stubborn.’

**I wait for this disturbance to pass.**

“Togami-kun, the deadline for the Secret Santa gifts is today.”

**I wait for the end of this ride.**

“Here, take it. Yes, that's it. Nothing else. Oi, keep your voice down... This doesn’t call for an audience.”

**Then I realise.**

“Here. These are for you, Fukawa.”

**Perhaps you originated from inside.**

“F-For me?”

“Yes,” said Byakuya, stood just outside of Touko’s door, bags of presents by his feet. Everyone else had retired into their rooms at such a late hour of night. He could see her holding in a yawn. “While searching for a Secret Santa gift for you, I came across a number of gifts that I decided to buy for you as well...”

Touko stared at him, for once at a loss for words.

“What is it?” he asked.

“You... wrote that poem?” she said, hardly breathing.

“Yes. Why?” He narrowed his eyes at her. “Did you not like it?”

With a facial expression that he couldn’t gauge, she balled her hands into fists. She looked pained but she couldn’t be pained because that wouldn’t make any sense. “I th-thought it was your handwriting, but I... you... I...”

“Did you like it or not?” he asked sharply.

Touko tensed. Eventually, she looked down and said, “I loved it. Thank you.”

Byakuya allowed himself to give a slight grin. “I wrote it myself, obviously. This craft requires a lot of dedication and time. Despite this, people consume these works and throw them away afterwards without a single thought. Therefore, it’s our duty to make sure that part of us stays behind. That’s a true gift, you know...”

All she did was continue to stare at her feet. She didn’t respond.

“Hey, Fukawa?” he said. “Are you listening? I said...”

Touko jerked her head up, rocked her body forward, onto tiptoe, and threw her arms around his neck. He had no time to react, not when she bumped their lips together, and then he did have time to react, so he removed their glasses, stowed them in his pocket, stooped down and wrapped his arms around her even if those weren’t logical next steps, all while feeling her hot breath thump against his face. It was a leap, a blind leap that would normally embarrass him but sent a rush through him outside of Touko’s room. She was small but not as small as he anticipated, big enough to hold, to overwhelm his senses with warmth, and she was a lot less wiggly than he imagined her to be on all those evenings where his thoughts strayed, distracted by her seated opposite him in the library, as she chewed on her lip, either reading or sneaking glances at him.

His earlier assertion, however, proved correct. By choosing the perfect present, he had shown wrong all those who tittered behind his back and accused him of not knowing simple things like how to kiss a girl, because if he hadn’t known then, he certainly knew how to now.


	3. Vulgar and Holey End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> THIS CHAPTER HAS IMPLIED NSFW as a heads up. As in a scene before and a scene after. Nothing graphic.

“Psst, Togami-chi.”

Byakuya took one more step before coming to a stop, and as he halted, the shopping bags hanging from his arms swayed a bit. He held in a sigh and turned his head ever so slightly, staring at where the whispered yell had originated from.

At the far end of the corridor, Yasuhiro peeped out from around the corner that led into the next corridor of dormitories, but when he saw that he had Byakuya’s attention, Yasuhiro emerged fully and walked over to him. In a trenchcoat. As he approached, he glanced both ways, left, right, and after that, he shot a brief look at the ceiling. They were alone. No aliens abducted him so he tilted his head back down and cracked a grin at Byakuya’s face.

“Hey, ah, Togami-chi,” said Yasuhiro. He gave the surrounding area another check. Safe from whatever threats he was imagining, he spoke louder. “Word on the street is that you’re trying to find a present for Fukawa-chi.”

One of Byakuya’s eyes got wider and he raised a clenched fist.

“The only way someone could know that is if they were stalking me,” said Byakuya in an accusatory tone.

A strong shiver erupted in Yasuhiro. “Easy there, Togami-chi! I can see some of the stuff that you bought through your bags, that’s all.”

He flashed his palms at Byakuya.

That made some sense. The bags were thin. Translucent when stretched. Byakuya’s fist dropped to his side.

“How did you know these were for Fukawa?” asked Byakuya.

Yasuhiro, not as tense now that Byakuya had lowered his fist, tapped himself on the end of his nose and winked.

“Well?” prompted Byakuya.

“You’re as persistent as a Kuzuryuu,” said Yasuhiro with a grimace.

Byakuya’s face quivered.

“Don’t compare me to them,” he snapped.

“To be honest,” said Yasuhiro meekly, “I only said you were searching for a present for Fukawa-chi in the first place because I have the perfect gift for you to buy for her, but you got me all caught up in the moment so I got carried away.”

Not much kept Byakuya from stomping off.

Yasuhiro peeled away his trenchcoat from his body and dug his hand into one of the inner pockets. Curious to discover what exactly Yasuhiro judged to be the perfect gift, Byakuya decided to give Yasuhiro a chance to redeem himself.

Carefully, Yasuhiro pulled out a large, see-through box, roughly the same length as that which separated Byakuya’s elbow from his wrist but not quite as thick as his arm. The container crinkled as Yasuhiro tweaked at its corners. Byakuya squinted. Inside was a glass cylinder studded with different coloured gems, and the cylinder was comprised of a tight spiral that progressed through the hues of the rainbow from one end to the other. Red, orange, yellow, green, blue, and purple, and an outline of a heart was affixed to the purple end, also made of glass.

“What is it?” asked Byakuya.

“It’s a pen,” replied Yasuhiro.

“A pen?” Byakuya brought his face closer to the box. He scowled. “This is the most ridiculous pen that I’ve ever laid my eyes on. It’s far too long and unwieldy to be of any use. She wouldn’t be able to write comfortably with it.”

“Togami-chi, Togami-chi, Togami-chi,” said Yasuhiro, waggling his finger. “Even if Fukawa-chi doesn’t write with it, she’d appreciate you giving it to her, ‘right?”

“... Explain,” said Byakuya. His eyes flitted from the pen to Yasuhiro’s salesman smile.

Yasuhiro stopped waggling his finger and clapped his hand over his heart, perking up significantly at the prospect of a potential sale. “Well, you see, Fukawa-chi is a writer and she’ll think that you bought it for her with that in mind and because you thought she would like it... Quite simply, you saw a pretty pen and associated it with her.”

Byakuya opened his mouth but didn’t say anything. He closed his mouth and a few seconds later opened it again, this time prepared. “How much would it cost?”

Having practically clinched a deal, Yasuhiro swung his arm across his chest in a hearty gesture. “1200 yen.”

That fell within Kiyotaka’s spending limit for the Secret Santa.

“... You’re not to tell anyone about this,” warned Byakuya, and he took out his wallet from his trouser pocket.

Yasuhiro beamed from ear to ear as Byakuya sorted through his wallet. He gave Yasuhiro a one thousand yen note and a pair of one hundred yen coins. Before Yasuhiro handed over the container with the pen in it, he tucked the container under his armpit and held the note up to the light. With the coins, he bit into both of them.

“You’re supposed to use money to buy food, you know. The money itself isn’t food,” Byakuya pointed out coldly.

“Protocol,” explained Yasuhiro, and satisfied that Byakuya, a self-made billionaire, wasn’t trying to swindle him, he presented Byakuya with the box. “Pleasure doing business with ya,” said Yasuhiro. He started to walk off.

Byakuya examined the box from various angles. “Where are the ink cartridges?” he asked.

“Sold separately,” replied Yasuhiro without bothering to screw his head around to look at Byakuya as he spoke.

Typical.

Not wanting to take the pen out of its box, Byakuya returned to his room and bought a range of different ink cartridge refills online, certain at least one of them would be compatible, and by the time they all arrived in the post, the due date of delivering the present to Makoto so he could deliver the gifts to their replicants had arrived. On the twenty-third of December, Byakuya knocked on Makoto’s door and shoved his present for Touko, wrapped in green and gold paper, into Makoto’s chest, and then stalked off without uttering a single word. Should someone have dared conduct themselves in such a disrespectful manner toward Byakuya, who himself could behave this way due to his superiority, he would have made them rue it and rue it dearly, though when Byakuya walked into class the next day and caught sight of Makoto, he would have made this instance an exception in order to avoid prolonged contact.

“Hey, Togami-kun,” greeted Makoto like he wasn’t wearing a red coat with fluffy white cuffs, matching trousers, a fake beard that resembled snow and a long red hat with a white ball on the end.

Byakuya pretended that Makoto wasn’t there and marched over to his desk.

Makoto lurched into motion and stumbled forward, nearly falling flat on his face because of the weight of the sack slung over his back. He regained his balance and chased after Byakuya, who was sat at his desk and was pulling out a lever arch folder from the bag on his lap when Makoto reached him.

“I have your Secret Santa,” said Makoto.

It wasn’t a question so it didn’t need answering. After Byakuya set down his lever arch folder onto his desk, he dipped his hand back into his bag for his pencil case. Makoto didn’t go away and started talking again.

“Enoshima-san got my name for the Secret Santa but she, um, didn’t seem to really understand the secret part of it because right after she gave it to me, she told me that she got this for me and I had to wear it while I gave out the other presents,” he told Byakuya with a weak smile.

That wasn’t a question either but Byakuya responded. “Don’t bother scavenging around for any shred of dignity that might be lying about... I doubt that it required much persuasion. Unless you’re foolish enough to seriously believe yourself when you say that, could it be that you care what I think of you? Is that why you’re trying to shift the blame onto other people, despite it being a fruitless attempt? Are you so desperate? Is it for my sake?”

“... I’m just saying why I’m wearing this,” said Makoto with a rare hint of hostility that, no matter how small, always compelled Byakuya to meet his gaze. Makoto forced himself to look away and heaved his sack over his shoulder so he could rest it on the desk and rummage through it for Byakuya’s present. Byakuya stayed focused on Makoto’s averted eyes, only receiving a moment of eye contact when Makoto lifted his chin as he placed a small box onto Byakuya’s desk. Afterwards, Makoto turned around and walked over to Sayaka, who had just entered the classroom and brought with her the aroma of gingerbread. Spotting Makoto, she grinned with a grin that no manager ever taught her to create.

The only present that Byakuya wanted to see opened was Touko’s so he could confirm that she would be as elated with it as he predicted and like Yasuhiro had implied, but she wasn’t here yet. If only to pass time, Byakuya returned his bag to under his desk and unwrapped his Secret Santa. Whoever wrapped the present did a satisfactory job. Loose ends were tucked in, edges had been cut straight and the sellotape hadn’t ripped away any of the snowflakes on the red background.

Still, once he had torn off the wrapping paper to reveal a small box of cookies no longer concealed by a shiny prison, its appearance while wrapped up didn’t matter anymore. Byakuya probed the bits of wrapping paper until he found the label. His name was written in cramped, neat handwriting on it and the label didn’t disclose who gave the cookies to him. He jerked his head up and while most of the class continued as they were, laughing or chatting or skimming through notes, Chihiro’s body gave a telltale jolt.

Chihiro, who likely had been staring at him, began to focus on last lesson’s notes, slouching so no face could be seen. Not only had figuring out who got Byakuya’s name been straightforward, but disappointedly so. Byakuya dropped the box of cookies into his bag.

While he waited for Touko, he read through the notes that he jotted down in their previous maths lesson. She ought to have been more considerate. Class would start soon. At this rate, there wouldn’t be an opportunity for Touko to open her present until their first break.

Touko shuffled into the classroom with barely a minute to spare, according to Byakuya’s pocket watch. Makoto popped out in front of her almost immediately and she jumped back, her arms up in a defensive stance. Another detail worth mentioning was that she screamed.

Junko, perched on her desk nearby, was doubled over laughing.

“It’s okay, Fukawa-san. I have your Secret Santa,” said Makoto, wincing.

“I have pepper spray,” countered Touko.

Further endeavours to console her would probably lead to her whipping out the pepper spray, so Makoto pulled his sack over his shoulder and as he rooted around for Touko’s present, Byakuya bit down on his lip to stop himself from scolding Makoto for being so rough with the sack. Doing so would expose Byakuya as Touko’s gifter but Makoto would regret his entire life if he damaged Touko’s present. Thankfully, Makoto found the present with ease because only Leon and Yasuhiro, absent from class, had not received their presents.

He held it out for her to take.

Touko accepted the present and tucked it under her arm.

“Aren’t you going to open it?” asked Sayaka, saying what was Byakuya’s mind.

“... A-After classes are over, I will,” said Touko as she headed over to her desk.

Byakuya bit down on his lip harder.

At the end of their final class, Touko retired to her room without any detours and still hadn’t opened her present. As much as Byakuya wanted to see her reaction to opening the perfect gift, he waited until everyone else went to eat fried chicken in the cafeteria before he rang her doorbell, arms laden with bags containing the gifts that he bought for her three weeks ago. Should he have shown up to her room earlier, people would have witnessed him in this state and he would have given the wrong impression. All he wanted to do was see how successful he had been and find out whether he needed to seek a refund from Yasuhiro. Nothing else. Though Byakuya likely missed the opening of the present, he could still hear Touko’s opinion on it. He just had to be subtle.

She cracked open the door. Her eyes widened. The door creaked as she pushed at it more, widening the gap. Byakuya stepped away and didn’t move from his location for a couple of seconds. “B-Byakuya-sama?”

“Fukawa,” Byakuya replied. He came forward again and leaned his back against the doorframe “You disappeared into your room as soon as classes finished.”

Touko’s face relaxed. Her lips twitched, solidifying in a small smile. “You noticed...? C-Could it be that you were worried about me?”

“Tch,” he went. “Actually, I’m glad because it made finding you an uncomplicated affair. Here, take these.”

He stretched out his arms, drawing her attention to the bags of presents on them.

“Should I take them to your room?” she asked.

Byakuya bent his elbows. She must have misunderstood why he wanted her to take them. “No. I’ve changed my mind too. Step aside so I may enter.”

“Eh?”

“Step aside!” he demanded with zeal that rivalled that of Sonia Nevermind.

Touko emitted a squeak and darted inside to give him passage. Byakuya strode in, following her. She led him deeper into her room. Every room had the same furnishing in their barest form, the only distinction being that girls were allocated bathrooms that could be locked from the inside. More differences between this room and Byakuya’s room sprung out at him with each thud that the sole of his shoe made against the floor. This room lacked a red rug that in his room stretched from his door to the far wall. Moreover, she didn’t have a painting there, or there, or there, or there. Near the door, a little further along, by the bathroom door and on the wall adjacent to the bathroom door. Piles of books and papers surrounded her bed and covered her desk, not cleared of clutter with only a violin case and his laptop occupying it.

He stopped by her bed.

“If I knew you were coming, I would have cleaned my room,” mumbled Touko with the end of her thumb in her mouth.

“Don’t worry yourself. I won’t be here long.” Byakuya tore his eyes away from the papers splattered across the wall that her desk was against and lowered his arms, positioning them at an angle so his shopping bags could slide off them. To help the bags on their journey, he shook his arms a bit, and the bags tumbled onto her bed.

“Do you want me to deliver them for you?” Touko asked. She licked her lips and then stretched them into a grin. “I... I could dress up like Santa Claus... but not in a costume from a babyish shop like where Naegi got his. In a costume from a more... adult shop...”

“No, don’t do that. These are all for you and Enoshima got that ridiculous costume for Naegi as his Secret Santa present,” Byakuya replied. The opportunity to ask about Touko’s present arose. “What did you get for your Secret Santa?”

Touko blinked twice, still processing what he said before that. “For... me?”

“You can open them later. Right now, you are to tell me what you got for your Secret Santa.”

Some sense returned to her. Some, but not all.  Far from it. “Don’t you want to exchange astrology signs? Blood types? Saliva?”

“Taurus and B, and I already know yours are Pisces and O.” Byakuya waved his hand. “Don’t evade my question... You’ve only made me more determined. What did you get? Show me.”

Touko hesitated, nowhere near excited enough for his liking, and lumbered over to her desk. She pulled out the top drawer and reached her hands in. Slowly, she turned around, holding the unwrapped yet unopened plastic container with the pen still in it. Instead of looking ecstatic at the gift, she seemed to be restraining herself from glaring at the carpet, and a deep blush spread across her cheeks.

“What?” Byakuya said, his face feeling as hot as her face looked but for different reasons. Indignance pushed at his throat from within. He puffed out his chest.

“Someone... gave it to me as a joke...” Touko trembled but didn’t let her face crack. “I bet it was Kuwata, or Yamada, or...”

“You really think that they would have such fine taste? It deserves a place on a shelf. No, it deserves its own room,” said Byakuya. He sniffed with disapproval. His next sniff was with disgust. Her room smelled musty. Too musty. One of her presents should have been a reed diffuser. From Italy, with lemon, frankincense and thyine wood, 13698 yen...

“W-What?” she said, puzzled. Her gaze flickered.

Realisation slapped Touko across the cheek.

“You mean... this is from you?” she blurted. “Y-You got me this...?”

He refused to look anywhere else but at the space above her head. “Must I be explicit? Yes, I did. I got you that pen. What’s wrong with it?”

“This isn’t a pen,” said Touko.

Byakuya fixed his eyes onto her. “What?”

Now she wasn’t looking at him.

“What is it then?” he asked, in a demand rather than a question.

Touko dragged her gaze back to him, only lower than before, directing her eyes to the area just below his belt.

“I can show you,” she offered.

“Show me right this instant,” he said.

She smirked.

Byakuya cupped his chin, intrigued.

* * *

 “Did she like it?” asked Yasuhiro the next morning.

“Hm,” went Byakuya.

“Aw, is that a smile I’m seeing?” said Yasuhiro, his eyes twinkling like the strings of Christmas lights strewn across the walls and his own smile as bright as the recently wiped table in the cafeteria that the two were seated at.

If Byakuya was smiling, it certainly wasn’t aimed at Yasuhiro or anything that Yasuhiro recently said, but Byakuya permitted him to continue assuming himself to be the cause of the smile.

“Hm,” went Byakuya for a second time, stirring his coffee with one of the flimsy, biodegradable sticks that the cafeteria stocked.

Yasuhiro carried on just as brightly as before. “I take it that the pen - ”

“ - is not actually a pen,” Byakuya interrupted, finishing the sentence himself.

“Huh?” went Yasuhiro. His brow puckered. “Not a...? It’s not a pen?”

Byakuya gave a short hum.

“Are you serious? But if it wasn’t a pen, what was it?”

“If you were someone smarter, I would think you tried to trick me for your own amusement but you are you. It’s definitely not a pen.” Byakuya’s apparent smile dimmed. “Honestly, while you were negotiating buying this thing from whoever sold it to you, did - ”

“Yo! What’s an odd couple like the two of you guys talking about?” came Leon’s voice. Leon skidded into Byakuya’s line of sight and slumped into the chair beside Yasuhiro. Just as smoothly, Leo propped his chin in the palm of his hand, elbow on the table.

“Hagakure,” said Byakuya, ignoring Leon’s question and also ignoring how Leon pulled an expression of exaggerated offence. Then again, Leon could have been genuinely hurt by the lack of acknowledgement. He seemed like the kind of guy who would rant on the internet for hours after he read a negative review of one of his music tracks. Anyway, Byakuya finished the rest of his sentence. “Keep in mind that if you get any more of those... things... in stock...”

Byakuya trailed off.

“Yes?” Yasuhiro said uncertainly.

“... know that I would be interested in discussing future transactions, especially if they, ah, are bigger than the one that you gave me or are double-ended,” said Byakuya.

With no reason to stay any longer, and certainly no desire to explain away Leon’s look of confusion and Yasuhiro’s arched eyebrows, he stood up, chair rasping as it was pushed back. Byakuya sidestepped away from the chair, pivoted on his heel and he left the cafeteria with a slight limp.

**Author's Note:**

> the next two chapters are alternative endings that i'll try to finish soon ^^


End file.
